


Pet

by cincoflex



Series: Casa Caliente [4]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Casa Caliente, F/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: During the second weekend together Grissom and Sara explore a few secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

Pet

Chapter One

 

Sara looked up and frowned. She sat cross-legged on her sofa, laptop before her, fingers flying over the keyboard in a rapid dance as she checked the clock once more.

“Damn it,” she growled to no one in particular. Hitting a last button, she sent the E-mail off and sighed, then shifted the computer to the coffee table next to a pile of books. She eyed the stack, wondering which of them would be best to start with, then picked up the topmost one with the red cover: Erotic Surrender: The Sensual Joys of Female Submission by Claudia Varrin.

She rolled her eyes at the title, but a faint smile played about her generous mouth. “Not about equality, huh Gris? We’ll see about that.” So saying, she carried the book with her as she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

The traffic had been bad, and she strode into the lab a few minutes late, but still managed to be the first one to arrive. In the locker room Sara carefully hung her coat up and took a few minutes to read the preface to the book as she straddled the bench. She was so engrossed that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching.

“Sara?”

Guiltily she looked over her shoulder to see Grissom standing there in his lab coat, watching her over the top of his glasses. He looked amazingly sexy in a professorial way. The hot throb of desire that never left her now surged hard between her thighs.

“Hey,” she struggled for a nonchalant tone, all too aware that it was Thursday night. From the hint of hunger on his face he was aware of it too. He held himself back, stiffly, and Sara understood why.

She smiled. “Been a long week.”

“Interminable,” he replied, watching her face.

Sara felt the urge to rattle his cage a bit, and held the book up, smirking. “Thought I’d do a little reading—might finish it this weekend.”

Grissom caught the title, and his eyebrow went up as he cocked his head. “I’d highly recommend chapters three and four.”

She blinked and flipped to the front, reading the headings and blushing. Gil crossed his arms, looking down at her with a thoughtful expression. “I’m impressed you’re willing to do the research. That shows initiative.”

“Really?“ Sara murmured.

Grissom nodded, turning to leave. Over his shoulder in a low voice he added silkily, “Keep it up and you’ll be teacher’s pet.”

And as he left, Sara couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t annoyed by his words. She SHOULD have been, she argued with herself, but all she could feel at the moment was a rush of breathless excitement for Friday.

 

*** *** ***

Nick looked at the feet sticking out of the culvert and sighed—mismatched shoes and socks generally meant homeless, which meant smelly and unsanitary and pretty damn unpleasant as well. He tried not to be judgmental about the dead but it wasn’t easy at times. Across from him, Catherine gave a cynical smile.

“Prone means murder; supine, accidental death,” she waved her beam over the feet, which were clearly pointing down. 

Nick shot her a puzzled look and she elaborated. “If the body’s face down in a culvert it’s usually because they crawled away or got stuffed into it with help. Supine means something happened while they were sleeping or in the grip of something—heart attack, choked on regurgitation . . .”

“You always take me to the nicest crime scenes,” Nick winced. 

Catherine shot him an indulgent smile and squatted, letting the beam shine deep within the pipe. She tried to hide her shiver and almost did. “Dark—possibly blocked off on the other end—I don’t envy you at ALL, Nick.”

His face fell and he shook his head.

“Oh no, no NOT me, Catherine—you’re way smaller than I am and you’re lead on this!”

“Which makes me in charge, so get moving. We need at least four flash photos of the body, standard, so the sooner you get in the sooner you get out, right?”

Looking distinctly disgruntled, Nick snapped on latex gloves and glared at the back of Catherine’s head to no avail; he swore he could hear her soft snicker as he bent down and began to climb into the culvert, working his way around the body and thinking unrepeatable things about his supervisor.

The odor of decomp was just beginning to rise from the corpse, and Nick thought he was doing fairly well in keeping his lunch down as he set the camera to his eye and hit the flash. There was a quick scramble somewhere near the corpses’ head, and Nick turned, peering into the dark, wondering what the hell could be in the culvert with him.

“Cath? I may have company in here,” he called back over his shoulder. Immediately a flashlight beam danced over the body.

“When in doubt, get out,” Catherine murmured, concerned. 

Nick hesitated. “One more shot, “he told her and hit the flash on the camera again.

Then the flash hit him.

 

*** *** ***

 

Sara straightened up and sniffed the air uncertainly, aware of an odor, but not able to place it right away. She looked around the Trace lab, and walked to the door in time to see Grissom emerge from his office and various other techs gather in doorways, as the stench grew stronger. She went to stand by him.

“Mephitis mephitis,” Grissom muttered uneasily, looking down the hall. 

Sara blinked. “You can’t mean . . .” she protested, but before she could finish, Nick lumbered in, and the fumes radiating off of him were strong enough to make the air around him waver. Personnel scattered, most holding their noses. Grissom’s eyes widened and he turned his face slightly; Sara held her ground grimly as he approached.

“And I’M the lucky one,” he choked, his face tight and upset. Before anyone else could speak Nick continued. “The DB in the culvert had a skunk in there with it—I only got sprayed—Catherine got bitten. She’s at Desert Palms getting the rabies series, Gris.”

“Did they collect the skunk?” he asked quickly. 

Nick nodded, his eyes bloodshot and watering. “Yeah—I hated coming in here and doing this to y’all, but I didn’t want to break the chain of evidence. Here,” he handed over the two paper bags to Sara, who took them at arm’s length.

Grissom nodded tightly. “Commendable, Nick. Go take a long tomato juice bath—about ten two quart cans ought to do it, and get to a doctor for your eyes. The rest of us will cover through the week.”

Okay,” Nick blinked sheepishly, his normally cheerful expression bleak, “ Catherine’s gonna be all right isn’t she?”

“She’ll be fine. Rabies treatments have gotten down to a single injection—Nick—GO—” Grissom urged kindly but firmly then turned to Sara.

“I HAVE to check on Catherine—hold down the fort until I get back, and tell Warrick what’s happened.”

“Right,” she nodded.

Sara turned and marched the bags to Trace, her eyes watering. Once there, she set it on the table, then scurried off for air, wiping her eyes. At the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Lydia, looking concerned.

“It smells like a skunk—please tell me differently.”

“I wish I could, but it’s definitely skunk permeated evidence from Nick and Catherine’s case, and considering what happened to the two of THEM, it’s on us now.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Ah the glamour of the job—you know they’d NEVER show something like this on television.”

*** *** ***

The next shift and a half was relentless, and Sara had never been so bombarded with so many different cases. She, Lydia and Warrick scrambled through together, finishing up their own four and the two that Nick and Catherine had going. Gil was off testifying in court, but he’d phoned in that both of the downed CSIs were doing well and Nick at least would be back by Monday.

“And the weekend shift is coming in a little early—we’ve got some overtime I can pay them out of General Funds to make sure the rest of you aren’t burnt out,” he told Sara over her cell phone.

She smiled at that. “Thanks, boss. It’s good to see that sensitivity training finally kicking in,” she teased.

A little growl came back to that. “Yes, well I have plans for the weekend, Sara. Starting at five AM. You might consider getting out of town yourself.”

“Is that an order?” she asked lightly, but her stomach tightened in hot anticipation. Sara could almost feel his slightly feral smile.

“Consider it a—request,” came his low tone right before he disconnected. Sara shifted her hips as she slowly closed the cell phone, shivering.

 

She drove slowly, a sense of eagerness fluttering through her senses as she approached 10867 Caliente Way. The night air was heavy and cool in the rural darkness but Sara could see the hint of light grey along the eastern horizon as dawn approached.

Her fatigue was gone for the moment, drained away by curiosity and a physical hunger she hadn’t realized was growing until she reached the gravel driveway and pulled up. The bungalow was dark and there were no other cars in the driveway; Sara chewed her lower lip. Carefully she pulled her keys from the ignition and stared at the new gold one dangling on the Cubs keychain. A Schlage lock house key winked at her, taunting her.

She smiled.

Climbing out, she went to the door and unlocked it, pushing it open and reaching for the light switch, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the orderly, comfortable living room. Glancing up at the Yin Yang over the fireplace, she laughed out loud, the sound breaking the silence.

“It figures—I KNEW you’d catch that,” she told herself.

Before she’d left last time she’d set the symbol on the vertical, so the male and female energies were balanced. Now though, the hanging had been turned so that the white was over the black in a blatant show of male authority.

Shaking her head, she dropped her purse on the coffee table and headed to the bedroom to change. As she stepped in though, she studied the room, astonished at the changes in it.

A thick pale green carpet lay on the floor, sculpted and soft. The spool bed was neatly made but several throw pillows had been added to it and in one corner was a three-foot Ficus plant. Sara wandered in closer; something lay on the bed itself.

She drew in a shaky breath and let one finger stroke the soft material. The note on top of it was in a familiar handwriting, the message short and so very Grissom:

I DID say I’d never have you wear much in this house. Since I’m out of shirts to loan you, this will have to do. –GG

Slowly Sara picked up the tiny garterbelt. It was a deep chocolate lace, shot through with gold threads. The matching stockings too had gold thread running in them, and the stiletto sandals were rich brown velvet, the long heels bright gold spikes.

She shivered, looking down at them, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten another notch as she sighed. Then with a quick scoop she picked up the lingerie and stepped into the bathroom.

It fit perfectly, and Sara marveled at the thought that Grissom knew her sizes from shoes to clothes without asking. She slid the stockings up, grateful she’d done her legs earlier, and managed to fasten them to the ribbon snaps without too much struggle. Carefully she stepped into the pumps, wobbling a little before walking back to the bedroom to look in the full-length armoire mirror.

She sucked in a breath, startled at what she saw in the reflection.

Sara knew she was tall, knew she had fairly nice eyes and a good complexion, but the woman in the mirror was—stunning. The stockings and heels gave her legs an amazing curve and length, and the color matched the liquid brown of her big eyes.

But the garter belt—it framed her hips and the soft curls between them in an enticing display of sexuality that made her tremble. She thought of Grissom looking at her undressed like this and realized he must have already imagined it—she moaned a little at the idea.

Sara turned and fought the divided rush of thoughts pressing in on her and smoothed a hand down her hip. Part of her knew that catering to Grissom’s whims was sexist and cliché. But another part of her couldn’t help being flattered at his thoughtfulness in picking out something so exquisitely beautiful. Certainly her previous lover would never in a million years have chosen a color that flattered her, or given a damn about her lingerie other than to tug it off.

Shaking away thoughts of Hank the Skank, Sara glanced back at the bed and picked up the note, letting her fingers trace the letters again. Not a flowery declaration, but somehow sweetly intimate. And it was clear he’d been here during the week, adding things, decorating with her in mind—Sara let her gaze move from the middle of the bed towards the headboard. She felt her pulse jump at the sight of a single deep pink rose resting there across the pillows there.

“Crap,” she murmured, fighting back a flush of tears at this unexpectedly romantic gesture. Who would have thought the pedantic, enigmatic melancholy man she worked with could be so tender?

She picked it up and sniffed it, her lashes wet.

Sara looked up an hour later from the hardback copy of Myths of the Moth as the sound of an engine grew louder outside. Faint dawn was beginning to gleam through the curtains when she heard the sound of a key in the front door lock; carefully she draped herself in the big chair, long legs dangling over one arm, heels swinging.

The door opened, and she caught her breath at the sight of him.

Grissom in his court suit.

Oh my.

Blue was his color all right, bringing out those eyes behind his glasses, making them bright and sexy. She loved the broad line of his shoulders in his coat, the crisp Windsor knot in the silk tie at this throat. He blinked at the sight of her in the chair.

“I love what you’re almost wearing,” Grissom sighed with delight, closing the door behind him. Sara rose languorously, well aware of his heat gaze as she balanced on those dangerous heels.

He took her in from head to toes, his mouth turning up in a small secret smile of smoldering approval that made Sara’s pulse jump hard and fast. She made no attempt at coyness, standing with her usual cat grace as he circled around her.

“It’s—they’re beautiful,” Sara blurted, suddenly hot and shivery at the gleam in his blue eyes.

Grissom cocked his head. “I’m pleased you wore them, sweetheart, very pleased. Good girls dress up for bad games, you see.”

Sara batted her eyes at him.

“And what is this game called, Grissom?” came her soft question.

He reached up and caught her chin in his hand, caressing it. “Watch Me,” he replied.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

“I MEAN it, I can’t!" Sara pleaded, her face burning. Grissom bent and pressed a kiss to her navel, his hot tongue flicking into the soft hollow teasingly.

“Yes you can, honey. It’s easy,” he murmured against her belly.

Sara squirmed. “It’s private! It’s just not something I can DO with you . . . you know—HERE . . .” came her whimper. Grissom drew in a breath, loving the scent of her warm skin as he straightened up again. Sara lay sprawled on her back across the bedspread right where he had dropped her, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Grissom shot her a patient look, but the hunger in his gaze was strong. “Sara, do you want me?”

“Yes, of course I do!” she responded quickly, propping herself up on her elbows. Grissom unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off, draping it neatly on the new chair in the corner of the room. Sara’s breathing quickened a little, but he shook his head as he rolled his shirtsleeves up one at a time.

“Good. I want you too. It’s been a long difficult, time-consuming and aggravating week, Sara, and one of the FEW things to get me through that one hundred and forty five hours of NOT touching, kissing or in any way molesting you during that time was to anticipate this lovely moment of reunion. Specifically . . .” he trailed off, looking down at her lush body, speculative heat evident in his eyes. Sara felt her hips wriggle a little under his scrutiny.

He gave a harsh sigh. “And I abstained, the entire time, too. Being a woman you may not fully APPRECIATE the depth of that sacrifice,” he intoned gloomily.

Sara broke into low giggles, curling into a ball. “I grew up with a brother so yes, I’m WELL aware of the male biological imperative for self-gratification, Gris. Trust me I’m impressed with your—restraint.”

He shot her a dark look, but it was tinged with love and good humor and Sara giggled again. Slowly, like a flower unfurling in the heat of the sun, she stretched out on the bed, looking up at Grissom as he stood at the foot, watching her.

“Sara,” came his slow tone, patient and hungry. Blinking in the growing light of dawn, she sighed, responding in a sultry surge of erotic energy; Sara shifted her lean thighs. Propping one high heel up, she crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes.

“I have to pretend you’re not there,” she quavered softly. Gil made a tiny sound of assent, barely audible and Sara relaxed. She rubbed her upper arms in slow strokes and spoke again, her tone breathy.

“When I have—impure urges—I usually wait until after my shower. Once I’m clean and in bed. As I’m getting ready though, I think of things.”

She paused, letting one hand slid up to stroke her throat and dreamily added, “The dark lets me remember and God, I had such fantasies about you, Grissom.”

“Tell me,” he urged in the softest of whispers.

Sara gave a little hum, and let her hands move down her collarbones. “Being trapped with you in an elevator—or locked in the Drying Room sometimes—anyplace where we’re alone,” she sighed. Her hands glided along her high breasts and Grissom drew in a breath, watching. Sara slid her fingers over her chest lovingly.

“We’d touch, in the dark. And your hands would slide under my clothes, Gris. Those gentle fingers moving in JUST the right way,” she purred, suiting actions to her words. Grissom quivered, feasting on the lovely image of Sara shifting her hips in slow grinds as her hands cupped her bare chest.

“You’d whisper we had to be quiet, that someone would catch us,” she moaned, lost in remembered fantasy, “And I’d try, but it’s not easy for me, not around you, Grissom,” came her husky confession.

Sara let her touch shift; one hand lightly circled a hard nipple while the other snaked down her flat stomach in a slow caress that had Grissom mesmerized. His bespectacled gaze followed the sensual advance of her slender fingers around her navel and into the hollow between her hips, watching as her nails teased the top edge of the gossamer vee there.

“Sometimes I’d pretend you had a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet,” Sara sighed, “And I could taste your palm while you touched me.”

Slowly she opened her slim stocking-covered thighs wider, caught up in her own erotic reverie, fingers sliding with eager intent towards the slick pink cleft blooming within the dark curls there.  
Grissom let out a hungry groan. He gripped the posts rising on either side of the footboard and braced himself between them, his gaze never leaving the delicate dance of Sara’s fingers as she caressed herself with loving grace for a few long minutes.

“God, it was the sweetest torture, damn it—getting off on being touched with your hands,” Sara moaned, her body tensing in response to her touches, hips rolling a bit, “Big hard demanding hands.”

She arched her neck, breathing fast as her touch glided deep between her legs in a searingly erotic image that left Grissom gripping the posts so tightly his fists were white.

Swiftly he let go and dropped lightly over Sara’s hips, kissing his way along the stocking top of one thigh as his hands covered hers.

“Keep GOING,” he ordered, rubbing his cheek on her curls. Sara gasped but was too close to the lovely edge of orgasm to stop even if she tried. She tensed, chin up, shoulders rounded as she stroked in a quickening pace.  
Ohhhh

The sudden wet slide of his warm tongue slithering around her fingers, teasing, tasting, lips on her knuckles, wet noisy kisses punctuating her groans—

Sara cried out, a low wild sound of sheer pleasure as she rose up on the wave of hot undulating spasms rocking through her. Dimly she felt the scratch of Grissom’s sideburns against the tender skin inside her thighs.

She sighed, and in that long heartfelt exhalation dropped back on the damp bedspread, thighs akimbo, shaking with aftershocks of pleasure. Sara opened her eyes and wove one hand into Grissom’s curls, tugging him away from his persistent kisses.

“N-no more! God, I can’t TAKE any more,” she gasped.

Grissom’s big hands slid up the insides of her damp thighs and stockings; she shivered at the gruffness of his voice. “Need. You. NOW.”

No argument, no request, just a simple hard statement of fact and Sara automatically braced her hands against his big shirt-covered chest as he loomed over her, rolling latex on his thick cock jutting from the open fly of his dress slacks.

“Gris!”

He tugged her to him, hooking one of her knees over each broad shoulder as he stared at Sara’s face.

She loved the sight of Grissom in his glasses, mouth and chin slick with her flavor, eyes burning like blue coals. He gave a groan, his fingers digging into her hips as he held himself in check.  
“Sara--”

She nodded and he thrust into her in one driving plunge, the sound of it deliciously wet and deep. Sara shuddered, pinned and impaled under Grissom, loving the feel of his dress shirt on her, the scent of his aftershave as he slowly withdrew and thrust again, growling happily.

“Sara yes ohCHRIST yesss so mine mine!“ he insisted hoarsely, glasses sliding down his nose as he pumped his turgid cock into her. Sara tensed at his intrusive strength, and every spasm of her body made him shiver; he began to build a hard rhythm as he kissed her face, licking at her open panting mouth.

Sara felt her body surge again, the tension growing with every deep stroke Grissom pushed into her. She tightened her legs around his upper arms and reached up, lacing her fingers behind his strong neck, feeling the sweat there along the back of it.

“Gil, baby oh God you feel so good in me,” she cooed against his mouth, thrilled when her words brought a deep groan from him.

“Honey goingto . . .” he grunted, his long lashes brushing her cheek as he thrust harder, all muscle and musk pounding into her.

“Oh yeeeeeaaAAHH!”“ Sara choked through the languid rush of pleasure curling tightly between her thighs now. Grissom’s fingers clenched and he buried his face in the soft damp haven of her neck as his orgasm rocked through him in long powerful waves.  
They lay together, breathless and spent for a while, quietly sated as the first rays of light touched the bedroom curtains.

Sara finally gave a little sigh and Grissom echoed it as he slowly lifted himself from her embrace. She smiled, sliding the sagging condom from him and deftly knotting it.

“Jeez,” she studied the impressive load of semen faintly visible through the latex, “You have—enthusiastic testicles, Gris.”

The look he shot her was priceless; an open-mouthed stare of perplexed mirth coupled with a soft eyebrow arch.   
“Enthusiastic testicles?” he echoed, beginning to laugh at the absurd phrase.

Sara held up the condom.“Citing my source here—talk about flattering.”

Grissom took it from her with a shake of his head, but he was still smiling when he returned a few minutes later. He slid out of his clothes and into bed next to her, reaching to pull her close. Sara nestled contentedly to him, eyes closing.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’d like to point out that parts of YOU were pretty fervent as well after a week of abstaining,” he whispered.

Sara laughed.

*** *** ***

“Screwdriver,” he muttered, holding a hand out. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa near him, Sara absently handed him one as she wrote a notation in the photo album on her lap. Grissom rubbed his chin as he concentrated. Around them, the strains of Strawberry Alarm Clock danced around the living room, and the cheerful clutter of dual projects covered the carpet. Sara hummed along to the music as she opened another envelope of un-mounted photos.

Grissom frowned, studying the blueprint resting next to his Levi-covered thigh. “I’m supposed to have two hex screws for this lower plate—do you see any?”

“Look on the coffee table,” she advised.  
Gil peered over at the photo in her hand. “A cathedral.”

“Of Saint John the Divine. I took it for the shadows along the left edge of the Rose window,” Sara mused with a grin. “I was into photography while I was in Boston—lots to shoot.”

“The Old North church, the Lexington Bridge, the Torrington Beetle collection in Lynne,” he mused. Sara shot him a look and he shrugged. “Okay, maybe I have slightly different tourist interests,” he conceded with a tip of his head.

Sara set the album down and stretched. “No doubts there—I bet you know every bug-related museum in the United States,” she snorted, but gently.   
Grissom nodded as he set the blueprint down on the carpet and looked over the toolbox.

“I’m getting a soda—want one?” Sara asked, rising from the sofa, setting the album down. Grissom shook his head and watched her saunter away, loving the sight of her as she walked into the kitchen.

The ant farm had been an old project, one he’d meant to do ages ago. Sara urged him to set it up and found her own unfinished job when she unpacked the box of photo albums. It was a lovely lazy way to spend a late Saturday afternoon, and Grissom was looking forward to taking her out as a reward for her patience.

He glanced at the album. Images of Boston lay in it neatly labeled now, with the occasional shot of Sara and friends, mugging and smiling. She’d worn her hair longer then, and favored cable sweaters.

Grissom turned a few pages beyond where she’d been working, and a few loose photos slipped out. He scooped them up, and stiffened.

It was a photo of Sara, but not an image he’d ever imagined seeing. She gazed at the camera with swollen eyes; dried blood crusted under one nostril, bruises livid and fresh across her chin and cheekbones. The mint colored hospital gown looked to be huge on her, and made the rest of her skin look deathly pale. Shocked, Grissom noted the dark oval bruises on either side of her throat and recognized them as thumbprints.

It was the expression on her face that froze his guts; that bewildered hunted animal look in her half closed eyes.

Quickly he flipped the loose photo over to see the neatly typed label on it:  
Sidle, Sara admitted 7/5/89 BGMH  
Recording officer: T. Munro.

The second photo was a close up of the neck bruises, a flash shot showing the long line of dark purple ovals down the back of her neck. Sara was holding her hair up, and with a prickle of fearful fascination, Gil noted other bruises along her arms.

“I was feeling like something Italian but if you,” Sara called to him as she came back into the living room. Guiltily Grissom looked up and her gaze went to the photos in his hand. She stiffened.

The soda can dropped out of her grip and fell to the carpet with a wet fizzy thunk.

“Sara--”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 

For a long twisted moment time stood still. Grissom didn’t breathe, didn’t move or say a word. He was aware of the music around them, of the heat coming off his face.

Sara slowly squatted down, picking up the can of soda and shifting it from hand to hand restlessly as she stared at the spill on the carpet.

“Need to get a wet sponge or that will attract ants . . .” she mumbled and with a rush, time started again. 

Grissom gripped the photo tightly as he tried to master his panic, his eyes locked on the tight set of her shoulders. “Sara—”

She didn’t lift her head as she set the soda down on the coffee table. “Hey, that’s old history, Gris, just a hard lesson. Never get between a friend and her drunk husband.”

Sara’s voice was a soft monotone as she dipped a finger into the puddle on the carpet. “Never drink a lot on the Fourth of July. Never argue with him about whether to put the dog in the garage because the fireworks are freaking the animal out. Never shove back when he starts getting angry. Never tell him he’s a fucking coward and should pick on someone his own size instead of an innocent retriever and a wife too petrified to do anything more than cower.”

She looked up at Grissom, and her wide-eyed expression of dim pain wrenched his chest so painfully he wheezed.

“And the biggie, you know, is never EVER assume a woman can outfight an enraged drunk—yep. Learned that one pretty good. I may know self defense and handle a gun pretty well NOW, but fourteen years ago--all I had was my ego and my stupid belief that I was indestructible.”

Grissom moved. He shifted so swiftly that he seemed to flow from one spot to the other, his arms coming around her. Sara tensed, then rose up into his comforting embrace. Her eyes were dry, but her voice shook. “I stole the photos out of my medical records, Gil—tampered with evidence I guess. It doesn’t matter now, but it did then. I . . . I . . .”

Sara hesitated. “--I never told my family.”

Grissom buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the smell of it, clean and sweet. He kept his embrace around Sara light even though every instinct was urging him to grip her tightly, crush her to him and feel that kitten-boned body against his. She clung to him.

He held her a long, long time.

Finally Sara pulled back and looked up into his face, reaching one hand to tug the curls at his temple. Her smile was shaky but sincere, and there was no mistaking the glow in her eyes. “So. Now you know.”

“I know more than I did before,” he replied carefully. She could see the questions in his eyes and tipped her head. Touching his face seemed to center her, and she gave a tiny nod that he understood. Grissom slowly brushed the back of his knuckles over her throat wondering where to start. He whispered, “How badly--?”

Sara smiled again. “Bad enough. I was always a contralto, so that didn’t change. And he didn’t rape me if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gil flinched a little, but Sara’s touch along the side of his face never changed. “He made bail before I even got out of Boston General Memorial. I pressed charges, but Jancy was too scared to testify on my behalf, and given the amount of alcohol and the circumstances—he served time, but not much.”

“Why—why didn’t you TELL me?” he blurted, searching her face as he tried to keep his voice steady, but Grissom could feel himself tensing up. “Christ, Sara if I’d known I would NEVER have—”

“Played any games with me. That’s WHY, lover,” Sara cupped his face in her two cool hands, holding it as she met his eyes with a fierce look. “I wanted you. I still want you. What happened to me in Boston doesn’t touch that. I have a tough time with cases that hit that memory, yeah, but nothing you and I have ever done is even remotely close to that beating and nothing ever WILL be because I totally trust you. I . . .”

She paused, a wave of joy and fear crossing her face, realization blooming in a glorious epiphany as she whispered, “Jesus! I LOVE you, Gil!"

And she cried.

*** *** ***

He held her hand; Sara stubbornly set her jaw and wouldn’t look at him.

“Just humor me again here, Sara,” came Grissom’s soft tone as he lightly squeezed her fingers. She looked down at their joined hands resting on his knee and finally a faint smile touched her mouth as his warm reassuring strength pressed into her palm.

“This is your bubble wrap therapy, isn’t it?” she muttered to him as the safety bars clanked down over their shoulders with a pneumatic hiss. He shot her a sideways look and she elaborated as the car moved forward. “Self-medication for stress,” she clarified to him. The noise of the coaster grew louder as they began to climb the first rise. Grissom smiled.

“An adrenaline burn—flush the excess in a safe and sane manner,” he agreed. “Since I can’t even BEGIN to inflict holy havoc on the shit-sucking ephemeromorph from Boston, this will have to do—”

They’d reached the top and teetered there precariously; Sara shook her head, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, but tackling The Cyberkill seven times in a ROW, Gris? How much more aggression do you need to purge?”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t as the car plunged down the steep incline and Sara gave into her long happy shriek.

Gris looked longingly at the line, but Sara firmly shook her head. “No—it’s over and DONE, Grissom, and if we go on that thing one more time I’ll never regain my equilibrium. Besides, I’m hungry.”

He looked at her with a hint of disbelief in his amusement, and then waved a hand at the food stands off to the right of the main thoroughfare.

“Somehow I think findng something meatless here might be difficult,” he warned but Sara cocked her head.

“Are you kidding? Cotton candy. Popcorn, churros, Icees, hot pretzels,“ she replied sweetly.

Grissom snorted. “ALL of them, or do you want to narrow it down a bit?”

Sara merely grinned and dragged him to the nearest vendor. The girl there smiled up at them, scoop ready. “Flavor?”

Sara glanced at the menu while Grissom murmured, “One scoop of Pistachio please.”

Sara shot him a look; Grissom shrugged, his big shoulders rising up as she laughed.

“Pistachio?”

“What did you expect? Vanilla?” he teased, and she caught the sly reference as a soft flush of pink crossed her face.

“Never, Gris—I’ve learned THAT about you babe.”

He accepted his cone and watched her choose a scoop of mint fudge, then paid for them as Sara fished for napkins. Companionably they strolled down the main lane of the amusement park, not talking, simply content to bask in each other’s presence. 

Sara sighed. “I feel better. You’d think after a decade and a half it wouldn’t matter, but even now, telling you—makes it lighter. Do you know what I mean?”

“They say confession IS good for the soul,” he responded softly. Sara said nothing, but concentrated on her cone for a while. They found a bench to sit on, and she looked up.

“Excuse me, but are you WATCHING me eat this?” she demanded. Grissom didn’t answer, but the gleam in his eyes was reply enough, and Sara gave a soft laugh. “Soft serve soft core, huh?”

“I prefer to think of it as fertile ground for future fantasies,” came his lofty reply.

Sara dimpled at that. “Fine—let me give you something to remember then.”

And so saying, she let her tongue slide delicately over the top of the ice cream in a slow stroke while she purred.   
“Mmmmmmmmmint!” she announced in a tone that melted it a bit more.

Grissom’s gaze was riveted to her. She batted her eyes and let a thick smear of it coat her upper lip, then slowly licked it off.

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars to do that again,” came his husky request.  
Sara laughed. She ran a finger around the rim of her cone, coating it thoroughly and slowly slid the sticky digit into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off of it with little whimpers of pleasure.

“Sara—” came Grissom’s voice, tinged with humor but definitely strained. She smiled at him as she pulled her finger out with a soft pop.

“You’re dripping and about to lose it, babe,” she warned.

Grissom glanced down right as his teetering scoop of pistachio slid out of his tilted cone and hit the dirt between his loafers.

“And I lost my ice cream too,” he blinked.

Sara held out her cone in commiseration. “You can always lick mine."

“I fully intend to,” Grissom told her with a ruthless sincerity that made her toes curl. He let his arm drop from the bench rail behind her back onto her shoulders and pulled her closer. The cone in her hand wobbled as he slid nearer.

“May I kiss you?” he asked with grave politeness. 

Sara blinked, glancing around. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“No. But it’s what I want,” Grissom dimpled. Sara met his eyes and swallowed hard, nodding.

He dipped his head and dropped his lips on hers with tender finesse, bestowing a kiss of graceful power. Sara let her mouth be lovingly plundered and by the time she broke away to breathe she had trouble remembering her name.

“Wooooo---“ she gasped.

Grissom quickly kissed her forehead and rose, taking her hand. “Midway?”

“ALL the way,” came her dazed response. He laughed, guiding her along with him towards the gaudy game booths.

Sara regained her equilibrium and looked around with delight. “Dart throw, dime drop, baseball tosses, basketball shots—what are you willing to lose exorbitant amounts of money on?” she demanded.

Grissom glanced around the crowded fairway. “What prize is worth the endeavor?”

“No stuffed animals,” Sara quickly broke in. “I’m too old to be thrilled by fake fur and button eyes.”

“Fair enough—but limiting. The only other prizes I see are basketballs, beer mirrors and baseball caps.”

“And picture frames,” she pointed to a booth with a ring toss. The frames lined the upper edge of the booth, most decorated with bright designs of nursery rhyme characters. Sara moved closer to the booth, fishing for her wallet while Grissom looked puzzled.  
“Picture frames?”

“Shhhhh, I’m concentrating,” Sara muttered, handing over two dollars to the barker and picking up the three rope rings. Both Grissom and the barker watched as her first shot went far over the flared post. Sara grumbled. The second ring was closer, but bounced off. Grissom stepped up behind her, pressing close. Sara leaned back against him happily.

“Spin it—work with the path of least air resistance. Are you sure you’re a physicist?”

“Are you qualified to coach carnival games?” she retorted, but mildly. He guided her hands and they tossed together. The ring flew in a straight line and rolled around the post as it slid down in a perfect win. Sara squealed and pointed to the frame she wanted. Grissom shot the barker an indulgent smile as the man pulled it down and handed it to her.

“Who do these remind you of, and DON’T say George Segal and Barbra Streisand.”

“Fine—Edward Lear,” Grissom countered, looking at the frame. In the lower left corner a slinky tabby was rubbing up against the edge of the frame. In the upper right corner, perched on a branch was an imposing barn owl.

Sara laughed. “You lack imagination, Grissom—it’s us.”

“Sara—” he was about to announce that they were NOT the Owl and the Pussycat when he looked over at her and blinked.

She nodded, grinning. Gris looked back at the little characters again, noting the cat’s graceful pose, the owl’s staid majesty.

“Actually . . . it is,” he agreed.

*** *** ***

Right as they made their way towards the end of the midway, Sara heard a familiar voice near the first concession stand,

“Wyatt, dude, you are SO busted,” came the slightly tired tones.

She looked up and froze as Greg Saunders met her startled gaze. “Oh hey, Sara,” he blurted, “Grissom—fancy seeing you two---here. Wyatt, don’t throw the cotton candy, bud, that’s totally NOT cool.”

This last was addressed to a small bundle of energy in a green sweatsuit and a bobble hat. Greg scooped the little one up and tucked him neatly on one hip as he tried to look nonchalantly at his co-workers. 

Sara blinked. “Hey Greg. Grissom’s been doing his rollercoaster evaluations again. Who’s this?”

She squatted down and smiled at the baby, who stared back at her with the unblinking delight that only the very young can maintain. Greg shifted uneasily. “This is Wyatt.”

Grissom smiled. Sara glanced over at the stroller, which was stuffed with toys, a diaper bag, and a bottle holder. Wyatt reached out to touch her nose very gently and she smiled again. “Cute nephew.”

“Actually—he’s my son,” Greg corrected her softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

Sara’s eyes went wide at this quiet bombshell, but Grissom gave a thoughtful nod, looking down at the child. “He has your—energy,” came the quiet observation. 

Wyatt was patting Sara’s face and kicking happily now, revealing four white teeth, two on each gum.

Greg smiled, an earnest glance at Grissom. “Oh yeah—this is not a quiet Wyatt—but that too is definitely a Sanders trait to which you can probably attest. Ah-ah-ah! Be careful,” this last was to Sara, who was rubbing a finger over the baby’s chin, “He’s teething, and at the moment can rival a Great White for per square inch bite pressure.”

“How old is he?” she shifted her touch to the baby’s cheek.

Grissom spoke up before Greg did. “I’d guess about fourteen months, give or take a week.”

Greg nodded, shifting the baby gently, his grip firm and practiced. “Correct of course.”

Grissom shrugged, and in an undertone just to Greg added, “Som man reder sa ligger man--We must lie in the bed we make?”

Greg lifted his chin a little higher, giving one nod, pleased and resolute. “Once again a family tradition, regrettably.”

Grissom gave a soft smile and cocked his head. “The deeds of a man say more than any words he speaks, Greg. Neither your grandfather or you have anything to apologize for.”

“You should have TOLD us—Catherine would be totally NUTS for him, Greg," Sara rose up and shifted her gaze to him.

Greg gave a careless shrug, tightening his grip round Wyatt’s waist. “Ah. Yes, well due to circumstances I’d rather not go into at the moment, keeping the fruit of my loins on the QT is kind of important to me.”

“Custody issues,” Grissom intuitively guessed. 

Greg nodded, his expression slightly grim. “Just so—and if I lose him, I’d prefer not have the entire lab trying to be kind or commiserating about it. Let them bag on my love life, diss my hair, judge my taste in music, but Wyatt—Wyatt here is sacrosanct, you know?”

The pride, love and desperation in his voice were obvious, and Sara nodded tightly, stroking the baby’s soft cheek. Wyatt burbled happily.

“Of course, Greg. And if you need time off or resources . . .” Grissom added quietly, letting the offer trail off. 

Greg nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Wyatt looked up at Grissom and burped, loudly.

“Definitely a Sanders,” Sara laughed.

*** *** ***

The clouds had grown to an angry dark layer above, and although it hadn’t rained, the threat of it hung in the air. Sara and Grissom carried in the two bags of groceries and made it to the porch just in time as the downpour hit.

Within half an hour Gris had a cheery blaze going in the fireplace as he as Sara curled on the sofa together and sipped soup from big mugs. She was resting her back against his chest, enjoying herself with all the different sources of warmth: the split pea pottage in her hands, the fire a few feet away and Grissom against her spine.

She gave a happy sigh. “Secrets.”

“Not secrets—just unvoiced truths, Sara. What happened to you in Boston is one. Greg’s too,” came Grissom’s soft musing.

Sara made a gentle sound of agreement. “Yeah. I can’t believe he’s got a son—it’s just so . . .”

“Hard to imagine? No it’s not. You saw him, Sara—conscientious, loving, devoted. He started pushing to get out in the field a little over a year ago, and now I see it must have been right around the time Wyatt was born.”

“Better pay, better benefits—“ Sara nodded as a pang in her chest make her voice drop, “Thinking of his kid’s future.”

“Precisely,” Grissom nodded, sipping his soup.

Sara shifted and looked over her shoulder at him, her smile crookedly sweet. “So what’s YOUR unvoiced truth, Grissom?”

“Which one would you like to know?” he replied, rubbing his nose on her shoulder. 

Sara thought about it for a moment, working her jaw back and forth. “I want to know why you don’t mind giving head but—“

Grissom winced softly and then laughed, a low self-deprecating sound. He reached over and set his mug on the coffee table while Sara wondered if she’d overstepped some boundary with her question.

He looked at her, his blue eyes meeting hers guilelessly. “You remember what I told you from the very beginning, Sara—that trust and submission were my framework for intimacy.”

She nodded. He turned his head to look into the fire.

“It wasn’t always like that. In my late adolescence I was well-read, but inexperienced and just as prone to the ruthless drive of my hormones as any young man.”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “Maybe MORE so—but whatever the case, I didn’t fully appreciate the degree of vulnerability sex demanded. In my first serious relationship I was infatuated with a girl who had a far better grasp of emotional manipulation through sex.”

“She played mind games with you,” Sara translated sympathetically, loving the look of Grissom’s classic profile in the firelight. He made a moue of admission.

“Oh yes. There’s a fairly crude term for my state of mind back then, all the more painful for being true. I did anything and everything to please her, just to keep the privilege of her intimate company.”

Sara studied his long thick eyelashes, his handsome brows.

Grissom spoke again. “She had—rules. One of them was particularly inflexible. No ejaculation during irrumation.”

Sara bit down an unexpected giggle, and Grissom shot her a slightly exasperated glance tinged with affection.

She blinked. “Sorry, sorry—I just hadn’t heard THAT term in a very long time, Gris.”

“Fine—in layman’s terms, no go on the blow,” he growled, giving in to a quick embarrassed grin. Sara tried to look serious again, but it was difficult to do when Grissom himself was lighting a smile.

“She taught me a great deal about—control. But after a while a rebellious streak in me didn’t want to give in. And one night I refused to play by her rules and took my own pleasure.”

Sara waited; Grissom sighed. ”Afterwards she got off her knees and leaned up to kiss me—then spit the entire mouthful back in my face.”

Sara gasped.

“Then she hauled off and slapped me, called me a disgusting selfish beast and stormed off leaving me standing there with semen dripping off my face and my jeans and boxers around my ankles.”

“Oh jeez,” Sara gulped, stunned at this image. Grissom gave a half-hearted shrug, but she could feel his tension pressing into her back.

“It was fairly humiliating, but liberating too. After that I vowed never to put myself in a position where I couldn’t enjoy pleasures that were rightfully mine and that philosophy worked right up until you, ah—took matters into your own hands, as it were.”

“At the motel,” Sara murmured, remembering it well, her face growing hot.

Grissom nodded. “And again in the backyard. I lost control for the first time in years, honey.” He sighed, pressing a quick, light kiss to her shoulder.

Sara nodded, looking down. “I’m sorry. I just—I like the taste of you, and I figured I could make it good.”

“Don’t apologize . . . Good isn’t a strong enough superlative for your talent, Sara. Try amazing, incredible, fantastic, marvelous, wonderful, mind-boggling—”

“Whoa, whoa thesaurus man,” she laughed, “It was JUST a blowjob.”

Carefully Gil caught her chin and turned her face to his, holding her gaze.  
“With you, Sara Sidle, there are no ‘justs’. The power and passion with which you love is nothing short of astounding and I refuse to take any of it for granted. If all I can get are two days a week with you I’ll take them and gladly.”

Sara blinked, a little shyly overwhelmed by his declaration. Gil kissed her nose, trailing down it until he reached her lips, planting a thoroughly possessive one there. He reached for the red-covered book sitting on the coffee table and handed it to Sara.

“Finished with your reading?”

“Ah—yes. I wanted to ask you about the lists though,” she stammered, trying to follow his cheerful change of mood. He waited until she opened the book and looked over her shoulder the indicated lists with a smile of knowing indulgence.

“So, Sara my sweet—what is an absolute NO from this list of varied pleasures?”

She rolled her eyes and pointed at a phrase; he arched an eyebrow.

“No tattooing, no piercing no shaving—body modification is right out,” Sara insisted, setting her jaw firmly.

“Fair enough—I’m not fond of modern primitivism as it is. No piercings then. Although you DO have an utterly gorgeous navel,” he teased.

Sara shook her head. “No. And none of THAT,” she tapped another item on the list.

Grissom’s mouth twitched. “I can agree there—we’ll pass on the showers, golden or otherwise.”

“And not THIS one either. I’m strictly one on one you know.”

“There goes my threesome fantasy with you, me and Ann-Margret,” he sighed, his dimples deep. Sara shot him an ‘Excuse ME’ look and he laughed out loud.

“Ann-Margret is ancient, Grissom!”

“I beg to differ. Even in this day and age she’s still—hot,” Grissom solemnly smiled. Sara rolled her eyes but said nothing and pointed to something else in the book.

Grissom paused. Sara looked at him, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Sara blushed, aware she was trying to visualize the option in question.

“No?” he asked, very softly.

Sara hesitated. “I haven’t actually TRIED it before, but it just seems like it would—HURT.”

“Forty percent of all American couples have tried it at least once, and twenty to twenty two percent indulge in it on a semi-regular basis—“ Grissom replied, holding up a hand to stop her comment and adding, “Masters and Johnson Survey of Sexual Practices, compendium edition, two thousand one.”

“Forty percent? Eek!”

“Given the degree of pornography currently centered on it, I have to assume the statistics are correct.”

Sara struggled with herself. She looked at him and finally muttered, “Is it—is it something you LIKE to do?”

He surprised her by shrugging. “I don’t know—I’ve never done it either—at least not beyond a certain degree.”

“A certain degree?” she echoed faintly, wanting to squirm suddenly. Sara was all too aware of his arms around her, and something else under her.

“Sara,” he smiled into her ear and she DID shift at the low growly sound of her name.

“Gris, I don’t know—It just seems—weird.”

“I’ll tell you what—go take a nice long bath, come back to me in about forty five minutes and I’ll be happy to show you what a certain degree is like. Give me your trust, and I’ll do my best.”

*** *** ***

Sara hesitated in the doorway to the living room, her entire lanky frame tense and tingly. She looked at Grissom’s outline against the glow of the fire, realizing he’d changed while she was in the tub. He wore a slate blue terrycloth bathrobe now, with corded black piping that matched his black pajama bottoms.

Grissom stood near the mantel of the fireplace, a book in his hands, his glasses sliding down his nose; he looked up at her and smiled gently.

“Nervous?”

“You have NO idea,” she blurted honestly.

He laughed at that and tilted his head. “Come here, honey.” His voice was soft and compelling; her feet moved before she could even think about it. Sara clutched her towel tightly around herself as she finally stopped in front of him.

He set the book down and drew in a deep breath. “I can’t have you just wearing a towel,” he mused. Sara glanced down, clutching the terrycloth a bit tighter, but Grissom pointed with his chin to the coffee table, and Sara spotted the black gift bag on it. With his wordless encouragement, she picked it up. Heavy. Sara peeked into it and her brown eyes widened.

“I didn’t have a five pound note to wrap it in so we’ll improvise,” he told her, lifting the heavy strand of pearls out and draping it around her slender neck. Sara shivered at the feel of the heavy necklace, the roll of the cool pearls on her shoulders and down her chest. Grissom gently unwrapped her bath towel and looped the strand a second time around her.

The necklace was so long it hung to mid-thigh on her rattling softly as Sara shifted her weight and tried to calm down. It wasn’t easy; the pearls were ticklish and beautiful, and as Grissom looked at her she could feel herself grow apprehensive with excitement.

“You have a complexion born for pearls, Sara. You bring out their luster,” he observed tenderly, his knuckles brushing her cheek.

“Please tell me these aren’t real, Gil—I mean that would be THOUSANDS of dollars,” she choked even as her fingers stroked the long strand reverently.

He said nothing, merely sighed at the image of her there, the fire gleaming off her magnificent bare body under the rope of glowing beads. Cupping her chin, Grissom lifted her mouth to his and kissed her, deeply. Possessively.

Sara molded to him with sweet hunger; Grissom took her mouth with deliberate force, sliding his tongue deeply into hers in a loving power play that left her breathless and aching all over. She gasped and he pulled back, a lazy laugh in his eyes.

“That’s the starting point. There isn’t an inch on your delectable body that I won’t kiss, Sara Sidle. All of it is sweet, tender, exciting and most importantly, MINE. So if I want to lick between your toes, or along your armpits, or behind your knees then I’m going to do it,” he warned her with a determined look.

Sara bit her lip and he nodded.

“Oh yes, even along your spine and deeper, honey. The sweet little rosebud there too—all mine.”

Sara flushed deeply, and pressed a hand on his bare chest as she tried to catch her breath. She felt dizzy, felt her skin grow hot and cold by turns. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she looked into the earnest blue of Grissom’s eyes behind his glasses.

“Yes—“ she sighed in the tiniest of voices.

He smiled.

Gently, he steered her to the coffee table and sat her down on a cushion there, kissing her shoulders and throat gently, whispering her name over and over. Sara felt his touch slide up her stomach to cup a breast, hefting its proud weight in his palm. She turned her face up and kissed his throat, gratified to hear him sigh with pleasure. A trail of kisses down his chest worked well too, and when she lightly worried one brown rivet-like nipple, Grissom groaned deeply.

“None of that—this is about YOU right now,” he managed through clenched teeth. Sara laughed low.

“I can’t help it—I want to play with your body TOO,” she protested playfully. He shot her a slightly frustrated look and got on his knees at the side of the coffee table.

“Later. I MEAN that,” he chided as she tried to reach for him again. Sara gave in when he kissed her once more, and tugged on the strand of pearls.

“I’m going to look at you in the firelight, honey. Open your knees like a good girl,” Grissom requested firmly. Sara shivered, but obediently widened her knees. He turned her until she faced the fire, and the heat of it against the insides of her thighs felt wonderfully arousing.

Grissom bent and pressed a kiss to one hard nipple, then the other. The string of pearls clicked when he shifted them across her breasts. Sara braced her hands behind her, fighting her tremble at his delicate touch.

“I feel pretty—exposed . . .” she quavered huskily.

Grissom kissed one knee and flashed a grin at her. “Let’s take a look together then, shall we?”

So saying, he laid warm hands on her thighs, widening them. Sara glanced down the length of her body with surprise; it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, either at the doctor’s office or at home, but here in the firelight the lush folds of her sex seemed exotic.

Grissom gently stroked a hand over the silky curls between her thighs, sighing happily. “Such a lovely amber garden. Very enticing,” he ran his fingers through it softly a few times while Sara wriggled a bit.

“I thought of shaving—“

“Don’t,” he insisted firmly. “A woman should be proud and natural, Sara. Las Vegas has enough landing strips and deserts as it is.”

Sara laughed, her low chuckle ringing out at his facetious description of the typical showgirl trims. It changed as he slid his fingers down and along the insides of her thighs and back up again, his touch deft and knowing; slow.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wondered about your body, Sara. About what it looked like, felt like under your clothes—to have you open to me like this is beyond pleasure,” he told her as his fingers grew bolder, sliding up between the velvety folds in tender strokes, circling ever so lightly around the little button near the top.

Sara moaned as she watched his hand. “Um—yes, that feels really—nice.”

Grissom just smiled, and kept his touch light. His other hand braced behind the small of her back and he nuzzled her ear as he continued to stroke her.

Sara wriggled and moved, feeling languidly sensual in the firelight, the pearls rolling across her skin. The slow tease of Grissom’s hand drove her crazy, and she practically whimpered when he began to nudge the underside of her bud with his thumb, stroking it with feather light touches.

“Patience, pet,” he pressed the tip of his index finger into her, toying ever so lightly. Sara pushed up, trying to move against his hand but he moved with her, keeping only the first digit in her sweet warmth. Despite all their previous lovemaking Sara was still tight, and Grissom savored the grip of her body, the lovely pressure. Gently he pushed in a tiny bit deeper and was rewarded with a moan from her as his thumb rubbed a little bumping stroke along her slickness.

“Driving me CRAZY,” came her hoarse confession as she tried to lift her hips again.

“That’s the idea. Ready to take a bit more?” he asked, licking her ear. Sara nodded, rocking her hips against him. Grissom pushed his index finger deeper in a slow stroke, and then withdrew it. With deliberate intent he did it again, setting up an unhurried rhythm. Each stroke of his big hand jolted her bud, and Sara writhed happily, her breathing growing erratic as she pushed against him.

“God you’re wet, Sara,” Grissom growled in her ear, then dropped his head to lick the nearest rock hard nipple. 

She let out a hissing sigh of pleasure. “More, God, please!”

He smiled and let his hand move faster, working into her freely now, his touch wickedly arousing. Sara felt the slow rise of goosebumps along her skin despite the fire’s heat and her own searing excitement. She turned her face to Grissom, her eyes half-closed, mouth slack. He kissed her and shifted his hand; she groaned with unexpected pleasure as his middle finger lightly pressed against the damp rosebud.

“Oooohhhhh!” she squealed, stiffening, gripping his moving finger tightly. Grissom slid his thumb over her bud and she spasmed hard and fast, the boiling sensations swirling through her long frame, dying away slowly as she slumped back against the table.

Grissom slowly withdrew his hand and very deliberately licked his thumb and index finger, then leaned over Sara, kissing her until she gasped.

“We’re going to bed, Sara Sidle, and I’m going tie you with pearls and kiss every inch of you,” he intoned.

Sara moaned.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 

Sara woke up and turned her head very slowly to the left, charmed at the sight that greeted her: Gil Grissom sound asleep. He lay sprawled on his back one arm over his head, the other under her shoulders and neck; Sara looked at him, letting the wave of tenderness engulf her as she did so.

His profile, even in sleep was nobly handsome; more so she felt since his iron grey curls were tousled. Normally Gris was fastidious about grooming, as neat as a tiger, she knew. Part of it was a common sense; no point in contaminating crime scenes with superfluous DNA, but the other part was an extension of Grissom’s own orderly personality, which made this unguarded moment all the more charming.

Thick dark gorgeous eyelashes—Sara remembered the tickle of them against her face. She could see the faint stubble of whisker along his cheeks and chin, the hint of mustache long his upper lip.

Lips, ah yes—

And she stifled a giggle. Those lips had been ruthless hours before, brazenly moving across her entire frame in a quest of kisses that still made her tingle even now. Among the truths she’d learned about Gil Grissom, the foremost was that he had few if ANY inhibitions about his appreciation of her body.

She let her gaze take in his strong neck and broad shoulders, the heavy muscles well-defined along them. Sara sighed. It was a pity he hid himself in long-sleeved jackets and shirts, she decided. His big frame sent shivers through her, especially now that she could smell the warm musk of him as he slept, see the thick silky tufts under his arm, the finer hair along his well-defined forearm.

She looked at his chest, holding back the urge to stroke it, and risk waking him. It was a good chest, big and wide, running to stocky but a living wall of comfort and sensuality as needed. Sara smiled as her gaze drifted to the nearest nipple and prided herself in remembering how responsive he was—a soft bite on either one could make him groan.

Giving in with an imperceptible sigh, she very gently slid her hand over on his chest, moving lightly. Grissom slept on, and she let her palm skim over his warm flesh, down under the rumbled sheet touching possessively.

She loved his navel, which he couldn’t understand at all. It was deep, and furry, and whenever Sara played with it Grissom merely sighed and let her.

The lovely path of dark silky hair that trailed south of Grissom’s navel merged into the thicker wiry fur surrounding his heavy cock, and even though Sara had the sheet between herself and it, her fingers remembered it well. It was difficult to keep her touch both light and barely perceptible along its proud length.

He stirred. Sara held her breath and her fingers still as Grissom gave a sigh and with pulled Sara closer to him without opening his eyes, snuggling her against him with a soft little blissful sound that sent a warm thrill through her right down to her toes.

She let her hand rest a little more heavily on his shaft and was rewarded with a definite throb of interest. A warm feeling bubbled through Sara, a sense of rightness with the world. Lying here in the early morning light with Grissom seemed more than her heart could bear without beating faster.

“Love you,” she whispered in a tiny voice.

He didn’t stir, his breathing deep and even.  
Just saying it aloud gave her a thrill, and she felt her face flush even as she laughed at herself. Her hand shifted to his thigh, warm and strong.

And that’s when Grissom hissed with displeasure.

Sara realized he’d been playing possum; She chuffed indignantly and tried to pull away from him but he gave a growly laugh and held onto Sara firmly, his eyes still closed.

“You big faker!”

“I prefer the first adjective over the second,” he snorted, guiding her hand deliberately back to his twitching cock. Despite her annoyed tone, her touch was playfully sweet around him and Grissom gave a low pleased sound.

“Rise and shine,” Sara ordered sweetly, caressing him. He turned his head to meet her gaze, his own brightly blue and smoldering.

“Cock a doodle doo—“ he replied through a smirk. She laughed in a lovely splutter of giggles. Never in a million years had she ever let herself envision pillow talk with Gil Grissom, and yet the tender teasing reality of it overwhelmed her with an amazing contentment. She shifted closer to kiss him even as her fingers rubbed the sensitive underside of his shaft.

“Keep that up and this cock’s going to crow, honey, he murmured thickly. 

Sara gave a soft laugh. “Well you know the saying, Gris—a bird in the hand . . .”

She stroked a bit more; Grissom thrust against her palm, his shaft hot and eager.  
“Mmmmm—maybe this one ought to be released in the bush,” he suggested with a tiny hint of desperation.

She slowed her caresses, and rose up on one elbow to look down into his face. “How do you want me?”

His eyes widened, and he reached one long bare arm over, fingers ghosting over her cheek to touch her smiling mouth.

“Every and any way I can, Sara,” he told her. She closed her eyes to keep the rush of tears in, but they gushed through her lashes.

“Oh hey, hey,” he soothed uncertainly, his hand shifting to cup the back of her neck and pull her closer to him. 

Sara quickly wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, sniffing furiously. “Damn it, I promised myself I wouldn’t get all weepy on you,” she chided herself in a low voice.

He spoke softly into her hair. “Cry if that’s your need, Sara,” Grissom urged in a whisper, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong is I love you, Gil Grissom. I’m not used to getting what I want, at least not without work and maybe some heartache along with it, and when I finally DO get it, I can’t be sure how long it’s going to be mine,” she choked out against his broad shoulder in a woefully heartbroken tone.

Grissom stroked her hair gently for long minutes, saying nothing and letting Sara catch her breath again. When she was calmer in the warm cocoon of his arms he spoke again.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. This house is in both our names now, Sara; I listed you on the deed. You’re also the beneficiary of my life insurance, designee on my benefits, and executrix of my will, pending a signature or two.”

She raised her wet eyes to stare at him, astounded.

“I suppose those are pretty presumptuous moves on my part, but they’re all I can offer you at the moment,” forestalling her interruption he kissed her forehead and added, “As long as we’re working together and staying with the status quo.”

“You GAVE me half a house?” Sara squeaked, staring up into his face, her velvet brown eyes wide in shock. He nodded a tiny little affirmation.

“Unless you’d rather have something else.”

“GIL!” exasperated through her joy, Sara gripped his ears and kissed him soundly, then lovingly rubbed her nose on his. “Adore you, not leaving you, so I don’t need the bribes, lover. In the course of a month you’ve given me more joy, more passion, hell more of YOURSELF than I’ve had in years and the truth is, the house is beautiful Grissom but without you—it’s just another place.”

“Nevertheless we’re going to be practical, Sara. Out of all the people in Vegas, you and I see nightly how quickly and unexpectedly lives can change. I refuse to leave things to chance, honey.”

She was silent for a long moment, her lower lip thrust out rebelliously, and Grissom took shameless advantage of it with a nip of his teeth before speaking up again. “The future is unknowable, Sara. The only thing I’m certain of is that I need you in mine.”

“That’s a pretty big admission for a man who held me off at arm’s length for three years.” She didn’t mean to let bitterness taint her words but they stung. 

Grissom drew in a sharp breath and stroked her temple with his knuckle. “Guilty—”

“Forgiven,” came her cheeky response, “Almost.”

But even as she said it, a thousand thoughts swirled through her mind; Grissom could see them reflected on her face. He laughed softly.

“I WILL make it up to you sweetheart, that much I can promise,” as he spoke he slid a hand along her thigh, caressing it in one warm stroke. Sara rolled away from him and undeterred, he pressed up against her back playfully, wrapping himself around her until she began to laugh.

“I sense a pretty ulterior motive going on back there.”

“Be kind to the evidence,” he softly licked the back of her neck, making her shiver. She arched back against him, shifting her legs apart slightly, and Grissom groaned as his eager cock slid warmly between her sleek thighs, rubbing happily.

“Ohhhhhhhh—“ came his deep sigh of pleasure. Sara flushed a little at the sound and tightened her muscles around his heated shaft, feeling the trickles leaking out of it, slickening her grip.

“A little frottage for breakfast?”

“Absolutely,” he gasped.

Sara smiled to herself as Grissom gripped her hip, plowing himself into the silky squeeze of her thighs. He made low, greedy sounds as he did so.

“So smoooooth and warm—going to have to stop,” he growled, but Sara added a little corkscrew to her hips and he groaned, pushing harder through her legs. She loved the brush of his shaft through her fur, the velvety searing heat of it sliding back and forth, a living hungry part of Grissom trapped between her legs.

“Saaarrrraaaa!” he gasped against her neck, his hand sliding around her waist to rake through the silky fluff between her hips, his thrusting becoming more powerful, almost desperate.

“Come on baby, yesssss,” Sara crooned, a little drunk with the pleasure of Grissom’s lust in a hot wave behind her, his lips along the back of her neck. She reached back behind her to stroke his flank, feeling it tense and damp.

“I’llCOMESaraSTOP . . .”

But she shifted her hips, adding a little horizontal squeeze along with a throaty purr of pleasure and that was enough to send Grissom over the edge. He stroked himself hard between the sweet wet press of Sara’s thighs, his teeth tugging the hair at her nape while one hand clutched her hip and the other the headboard over them.

“DamnitdamnitSara—ohGGGGOD!” he snarled in a raw voice so aroused that she felt a fireball of her own heat building deep inside her, throbbing HARD.

The boiling splash of Grissom’s climax erupted in slow voluptuous sprays, saturating her inner thighs as he came, his big chest heaving against her back, his fingers leaving bruises on her hip that she would find later.

Sara didn’t have time to savor her victory over his control for long though; within a few minutes Grissom rolled her on her back again as he loomed over her, a hard glitter to his eyes.

“I really OUGHT to spank you!” Grisspm rumbled in a rough whisper as he tugged her legs apart. She bit her lips, a little fearful of his intensity even though his touch was light as he wiped her thighs clean with a corner of the sheet.

“Grissom . . .” she pleaded, but he shook his head and brought his face to hers, locking gazes with her.

“Skin on skin, Sara—I lost my MIND with the FEEL of that. Tender, wild, no barriers between us honey—Don’t EVER push it again!” he growled.

She shivered at his tone, but he dropped his head and let his mouth find her hard nipple, tongue flicking it before making a wet trail to the other for equal treatment. 

Grissom gave her a quick stern smile. “Sit on your hands, Sara---“ he commanded, “ –And open your thighs.”

She slid her wrists under her hips and Grissom nodded approvingly. With deliberate slowness he licked his way down her sternum and stomach. Her breathing went slightly ragged as he pressed kisses through her soft thatch, nosing his way happily, tongue easily parting the slick velvety folds.

“Like the petals of a rose, wet and sweet,” he muttered. Reverently he braced himself over her hip, facing her feet and rubbing his slightly stubbly cheek along her thigh.

“Mine to kiss and taste, honey,” Grissom bent his head, tongue sliding easily along the sweet cleft of her sex. Sara’s stomach, already tense, tightened further under this erotic seduction. She groaned, her breasts aching, the pangs of desire racing deeply through her to merge just under Grissom’s relentless mouth.

“Ohhhpleaseplease!“ came her plea; pausing, Grissom laughed softly against her flesh, then suckled her turgid little bud, his tongue rasping softly in circles around it.  
She howled with animal pleasure, arching up against his chest lost in the weightless bliss of her body flaring in sensual joy that went on and on, seemingly forever.

When she finally opened her eyes, Sara looked up to see the serene blue of Grissom’s eyes looking down at her. She tried to reach up and touch his cheek, but he carefully stretched out and laid his head between her breasts, his ear against her heartbeat, his soft curls ticklish against her skin. Gently she stroked his hair and they slept.

*** *** ***

He leaned against the car frame looking down at her with a soft intensity that still thrilled her. She put her keys in the ignition but didn’t turn it, not just yet.

“Next week?”

“I have a seminar at Quantico , Friday through late Sunday. Catherine pushed me to take it for political reasons.”

“So not next week.”

“’Fraid not. What about the week after that?”

“I’M stuck being a bridesmaid for my cousin Sorcha’s wedding in Flagstaff.”

“Did you send me a memo for the time off?”

“YES.”

“Crap. All right, that pushes it back to the third week. No longer than that, Sara. I don’t want to be chewing the walls.”

“And asses of your subordinates, yeah yeah. We can manage fourteen days, Grissom. I mean look at our track record so far, right?”

“I prefer not to. I’m not proud of my ability to see the evidence and deny the reality.”  
“In the past, babe—I have faith we can handle a little enforced separation—absence makes the heart grow fonder you know.”

“I can’t say I’m thrilled to put it to the test. When do you get back from Flagstaff ?”

“I’ll push for Sunday afternoon, but no promises. You’ve never been to one of Sorcha’s weddings . . .”

“How many times has she gotten married?”

“Four, and I have the ugly dresses to prove it.”

“Poor Sara—come home early in two weeks and I’ll be happy to whisk you right out of whichever one you’re wearing.”

“Now THAT is a promise I intend to make you keep, Dr. Grissom!”

And on that note she turned the keys, letting the engine start. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and watched her back up down the driveway, a twisted smile on his face.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I did write a lot of sex when I started in this fandom.


End file.
